


keep calm, carry on

by Flora_Obsidian



Series: found families [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, Injury, Mentions of Blood, Serious Injuries, she winds up okay though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flora_Obsidian/pseuds/Flora_Obsidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She blinks a couple of times at the hazy blue sky, body hot hot hot and desert sun beating down and not a single cloud in sight- there's a throbbing in her skull and everything hurts more than it's ever hurt and she knows in some part of her mind that she needs to get back up, get back to the shelter before dark, but it <em>hurts</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep calm, carry on

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for the thing: mentions of blood and injury, but not graphically described.

It _hurts_.

She blinks a couple of times at the hazy blue sky, body hot hot hot and desert sun beating down and not a single cloud in sight- there's a throbbing in her skull and everything hurts more than it's ever hurt and she knows in some part of her mind that she needs to get back up, get back to the shelter before dark, but it _hurts_. She can't move her leg. She can't move her leg.

She can't move.

The sand underneath her is a blinding shimmer of gold, cut through by a river of red-brown that trickles sluggishly down the dune, and the corpse of another scavenger is slowly baking in the sun not far away. Somewhere behind her, there is shade, a triangle of gold-gray-brown cast by the metal framework of a shuttle's wing. Somewhere behind her, there are the hyperdrive parts she took and the other scavenger tried to steal from her- tried to _steal_ them from her can't move she can't move it _hurts_.

Rey is fifteen years old. There are ninety-eight marks scraped into the wall of her new shelter near the Graveyard. She is running low on ration bars. She didn't get any new water supplements yesterday. She needs to eat.

 _She_ found the hyperdrive first that'll get her at least five portions- he tried to _steal_ it from her-

-her stomach rolls, and she fights down bile rising in her throat and struggles to remember how to breath-

-needs to get up, needs to get back to the shelter, needs to bring the parts with her to get food, needs to get up, needs to move needs to move needs to move needs to

The sun is dipping low in the sky, and she can feel her skin blistering, and she can feel her tongue thick and dry in her mouth and her throat parched and

_**Rey, get up** _

sit up slow, tears in her eyes, _don't cry you can't waste the moisture don't cry don't cry_ , looks at her leg and the fabric now dyed red, sees the deep cut running down her thigh maybe starting to clot, hypderdrive parts two meters behind her, shuttle ten meters to the left, twelve meters total

stand up don't cry _move_

* * *

She knows that she gets the hyperdrive parts and she knows that she gets them back to her speeder and climbs on and she knows she gets from her speeder to her shelter and inside to dress her wound- she knows, she knows, because when she wakes up she finds herself lying in her hammock, feverish and exhausted and parched, her leg in bandages and her bloodstained clothes in a heap on the floor. Grandma sits by her side, watching her with a worried frown that makes her seem much older than she ever was- older, frightened.

She tries to speak, and all that comes out is a croak.

“ _You've been out for a day,”_ Grandma says softly. _“Your grandfather is out looking for someone. Can you move, Rey? You need to get up and drink something, change your bandages. You need to get up, Rey.”_

Force ghosts can't touch, and Grandma is all the more transparent without Grandpa there to anchor her. Rey blinks, her vision gone double, and tries to sit. The pain hits with all the force of a sandstorm, and then she doesn't remember much of anything at all.

* * *

_I can't find him. He's hiding himself from Snoke, and I can't find him.”_

_Rey is strong._

_But she shouldn't need to be!_

_I know, Ani... I know._

* * *

She makes herself get up a while later and she makes herself drink water (warm, a brown film over the top) and she makes herself eat a ration bar and she makes herself change her bandages even though the sight out the wound makes her feel even more ill. Grandma is almost always there when she wakes up, Grandpa next to them both when he isn't- looking, Rey thinks he's looking for someone, but she can't remember if she's asked or not and talking hurts her throat so she leaves the matter be.

But it's like Grandpa told her so many years ago, they can't be there _all_ the time, they need to go back every now and again to wherever it is that Force ghosts are supposed to be, and Rey finds herself alone one long desert night, listening to the howling of a sandstorm outside, armored walls of the Walker rattling with the force of the winds. She fumbles for a light, just enough to see by, and tries to breathe, slow and even.

It hadn't been a deep wound, but it was long and jagged and she didn't have much in the way of medical supplies. It will leave behind a scar. She doesn't know what she's going to do if she can't walk, can't climb.

The sandstorm ends, bringing the heat with it. Grandma and Grandpa still haven't returned.

Rey swings the hammock back and forth until she can just reach her quarterstaff, biting her lip to muffle cries of pain as every swing jostles her bad leg. She hobbles across the tiny room, staff as a crutch, and scratches tallies for the days she's missed into the wall. She looks down at her leg and the bandages, which are holding up well, haven't soaked through, and the hyperdrive parts she could have died for lying to one side.

If walking with a crutch is bad, kneeling and standing and carrying are exponentially worse, but she pushes through, somehow, _somehow_. She needs to drag the parts out to her speeder, then climb up and on, options either to swing her injured leg over the side or to put weight on her injured leg to swing the uninjured one over. She needs to pilot without crashing, needs to climb down, needs to clean her findings and carry them over to by inspected, needs to make the return trip.

She grits her teeth and moves.

The settlement is about as hospitable as it ever is, a few traders looking to scam people out of their money, a handful of scavengers scouring away the sand caked into their finds in the hopes of making them look more presentable, worth more portions, more water. Unkar Plutt stands in the center of it all, looking over what is presented to him with a critical eye, taking it and offering however much he wants. She knows that they as scavengers have no choice to accept it; it isn't as if they can get a better deal, isn't as if there's anybody _else_ on this forsaken desert planet.

Grandpa, more than once, has urged her to steal a ship and fly away, but she lives caught between the hope that her family will come back and the fear that he and Grandma were wrong, that she was left here because they didn't want her. It's easier to stay, because then she never has to find out if she's right.

Rey drags the parts over to one of the tables, limping heavily, hands slick with sweat and sliding over the worn grip of her quarterstaff. It's not good to show weakness in the settlement, because being weak made one a target, but she doesn't have a _choice_. She scours the sand and rust and grit away and hopes and prays that the parts are actually salvageable and slams her quarterstaff between the legs of a trader who's looking at her prize with an expression she does not like. He goes down with a whine. Her head is spinning.

She gets in line. Shuffles forward.

In later years, most of this will be a blur. She will remember the awful, terrible heat; she will remember how difficult it was to stand and how thirsty she was; she will remember the realization that she could die if she didn't move; she will remember, vividly, that one conversation between her grandparents as she slipped in and out of consciousness; she will remember a cold feeling of panic in her chest as Unkar Plutt looks at the hyperdrive parts lifted up onto the counter – and that is something she will not remember, how she manages to lift them all at once with one hand, the other gripping the quarterstaff tight as she desperately tried to remain upright, but it is something she does, somehow.

She will remember the gruff voice of Unkar Plutt: “Three portions.” The uneasy shifting behind her. The sudden surge of wrong that rose up inside, overwhelming the pain for just a brief moment.

“Th'parts all work!” she tries to shout, but it comes out as a hoarse noise. She's almost out of water. “S' fully-functional. _Ten_ portions.”

“Two portions,” he amends calmly, and she should back down but doesn't.

“ _I'm_ your _best_ scavenger,” she rasps, and grips her quarterstaff with both hands. The world is curiously blurred. “You know it. _I_ know it. S' in- in _your_ int'rests t'keep me alive. _Ten_.”

He takes the parts in their sack and returns the sack a moment later. It's light, but not light enough for only two portions.

“Next.”

Eight portions, she counts when she gets back and collapses into her hammock. The bandages feel wet. Her fingers come away red.

Better than two portions, she thinks dimly, and closes her eyes.

* * *

There's a bit of open space around the new Resistance base, which makes for good sparring. She's been teaching Finn how to fight with her quarterstaff just in case he ever needs to take up a saber again, and Finn has been teaching her how to fight hand-to-hand. She's not _bad_ at it, but a metal rod packs more force than a fist, so she never practiced as much and isn't as good as she'd like to be.

Thing is, she fights with a staff because it's easier to block any blows to her left side, her bad side. A well-aimed kick can knock her down, if only for a moment or two, but a moment or two is all that's needed.

Finn isn't fighting to hurt her, but she doesn't block fast enough, and her leg buckles. She takes his moment of surprise to knock his feet out from underneath him, and they both lie on the ground for a moment.

“I didn't meant to hit you that hard,” he says, sounding both concerned and winded at the same time.

“Bad leg,” she replies, also rather winded. “Long story.”

“Maybe we should break.”

“Sounds good.”

He holds out a hand. She takes it and lets him pull her to her feet, wobbling just a bit when she stands, and if she leans a bit on her quarterstaff when they walk, neither of them mention it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always always appreciated.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr @[floraobsidian](floraobsidian.tumblr.com)


End file.
